Heavy Weight
by Zapruder Cinema
Summary: So it goes.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: x-posted from my ao3. This is a canon-compliant, yet Ichigo/Rukia centric one shot. Please keep this in mind.

* * *

When Ichigo wakes up he's never able to breathe right away. Sometimes it's the shock of changing from darkness to light remembering the many times before that he's woken up in the Seireitei, slashed to ribbons. Then he blinks and he sees his ceiling light, the sun filtering through the shades and he breathes, _oh_ , painful.

Other times it's because he suffocates. The situations vary-he's back in Hueco Mundo with Ulquiorra holding him up and drowning his vision in black, or in the dangai with the pain of Tensa's blade piercing his heart, or it's in Karakura with Aizen holding him up by the throat, a dream manifested solely to toy with him. If he had a choice, Ichigo would choose waking up the first way every time compared to that cold sharpness digging into the soft beating muscle, the bruising constriction of a closed throat.

So it goes, most nights. He manages. He flips the pillow over, turns his back to Orihime, and covers his face with his palms, blunt fingernails digging into his hairline as he wills away the burning in his throat and behind his eyes. It's bad enough when he's alone, the loss of time in a river of fear and sweat, but it's even worse when Orihime tries to intervene.

Tonight is bad, very very bad, he's half clawing his way through Aizen's _Kurohitsugi_ again when he feels a grip around both of his wrists and he

 _can't_

Kurosaki-kun-

 _Let go_

 _Let me go_

Kurosaki-kun

(Ichigo?)

 _Let me go damnit_

"Ichigo-!"

" _Let go_ , damnit!" Ichigo yells above the static in his brain, the cacophony clattering under his rib cage; his eyes shoot open and it's still _dark_ and Aizen has got to be nearby. On reflex he begins shunpo but his head knocks into the headboard and the pain makes him gasp.

"Ichigo…" Orihime's voice is buttery soft and her hands alight like angel's wings upon his tense biceps. Frantic in his daze, Ichigo pants and clutches at his chest, the base of his throat. Ulquiorra's fingers, Aizen's, there against his trachea and fluttering jugular.

 _Where's Aizen_

"Rukia,"

 _Where is she_

"Eh? She's not here, Ichigo…"

 _WHERE IS SHE_

 _I can't breathe_

"Let me get you a washcloth-"

Orihime almost cries out when Ichigo grabs her arm with both hands, preventing her from leaving as he begs without breath, choking, "We have to get Rukia-"

Ichigo can't see Orihime's eyes in the dark; he remembers being able to find Rukia's even through the rain. "Ichigo-"

 _Stop that_

 _Rukia_  
 _call my name please_

"You were just having a bad dream," she soothes with all the effect of lukewarm water because the fingers she runs through his hair are too long and her weight is too soft behind him. It suddenly makes his skin crawl in a burst of chills that loosen his bruising grip. His body feels like it's been dropped into a frozen lake; everything comes rushing back at once like a slap in the face. Images, a slideshow of scenes in three seconds-Aizen, Central 46, Ywhach, Orihime and Kazui- "Rukia's back in the Soul Society."

( _Rukia_ )

(' _was_ ' having a bad dream? he barely registers the thought. _was_?)

(Rukia)  
 _She's not here_

He feels like vomiting. Her skin is too warm, burning him. On legs unsteady and weary Ichigo stands, wrapping the blanket around him He doesn't register going into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Behind him, Orihime calls, "Ichigo…" a scratch of her nail at the door, "do you want me to bring you anything?"

Gentle as the rain.

"Leave me alone right now, Inoue." He doesn't intend the reversion to her old name but it comes out naturally and he doesn't care, he's still out of breath and staggers until he backs against one wall. With all the weight of the world he slides down until he's sitting and hunches forward, resting his forehead between his knees and digging his fingernails into his shins.

Rukia, she's not here. Orihime turns away when he says no, but Rukia would bite back with a yes. A gentle bite, no marks left, a nip to his lower lip.

( _the last time she did that was a few months ago; she was in uniform, sneaking in through his window. Orihime was out with Tatsuki, Kazui snug in his bed, and sensing the rankling of his reiatsu had drawn her in until she was kneeling on his bed beside him and letting him clutch at her waist, her captain's coat muffling him._ )

He remembers-her hands were always too little. When Orihime brushes his sweaty bangs off of his face and cheek her shadows loom far too large for him.

Rukia, she wouldn't have left him alone. Instead she'd stay by the door, waiting, stubborn thing that she is, and would wait until Ichigo talked, stubborn thing that he is. No forcing, but no resignation. The stirring of sheets tells Ichigo that Orihime's crawled back to bed, tired but unsure of her decision. She'll ask him in the morning how he is and he'll answer with a shrug and nonchalant noise.

In the Seireitei Rukia sleeps curled around a body that is not Ichigo's, breathes those little sleepy sighs against someone else's shoulders, and Ichigo is alone with the bathroom tile chilling his skin through his clothes. As it goes, Ichigo shoves a handful of sheet into his mouth and bites, drowning out his sobs in wet fabric and tears.


End file.
